100 Years Ago Today (16th March 1912) – Death of Lawrence Oates – ActiveHistory All the latest additions to the 100 Years Ago Today (16th March 1912) – Death of Lawrence Oates Death of Lawrence Oates, British Antarctic explorer, a member of Scott’s ill-fated expedition, who famously said ‘I am just going outside and may be some time’ as he walked into a blizzard where he faced certain death (406 views) I am just going outside and may be some time. | EnglishClub I am just going outside and may be some time. Captain Lawrence Oates In 1911-1912 a British team led by Robert Falcon Scott attempted to be the first humans to reach the South Pole, the most southerly point on Earth situated on the Antarctic continent. They did in fact reach the Pole (on 17 January 1912), but discovered that the Norwegian explorer Amundsen had beaten them to it. The demoralized five-man British team then began the 895-mile (1,440 km) trek back to their base. They never made it.

Hampered by worsening weather, poor provisioning, injury and frostbite, the team were destined to die en route. Edgar Evans was the first to die (17 February 1912), apparently as the result of a blow to his head when falling into a crevasse. The four remaining men struggled on, slowed by fierce blizzard conditions. And Oates' severely frostbitten and gangrenous feet and general weakness (possibly aggravated by an old war wound) began to hold them back further, so that they could not keep up the daily distances needed to reach provisions before their rations were exhausted. On 15 March Oates told the others that he could not continue, suggesting that they leave him in his sleeping-bag and go on without him. They refused. The following night, according to Scott's diary entry, in the early morning of 16 March 1912, Oates said to his colleagues: "I am just going outside and may be some time." Then, without going through the painful exertion of putting on his boots, he stepped outside into a raging blizzard and temperatures of -40.0 °C (-40 °F) to face certain death.

Oates' self-sacrifice did not save his colleagues from a similar fate. Scott, Wilson and Bowers died nine days later, eleven miles short of their next pre-laid food depot that could have saved their lives. Oates died a bachelor the day before his 32nd birthday, probably still unaware that he had fathered a child with an 11-year-old Scottish girl when he was about 20, a fact that emerged many years later. His memorable phrase lives on in the English-speaking world both as among the most famous of last words and as the epitome of heroic understatement and allusion.

Captain Lawrence Oates (1880-1912) English Antarctic explorer demoralize (verb): cause (someone) to lose confidence and hope trek (noun): long difficult journey, usually on foot make somewhere: reach somewhere; arrive at somewhere hamper (verb): make more difficult provisioning (noun): the supplying of food etc frostbite (noun): serious injury to body tissue (especially toes or fingers) caused by extreme cold en route (noun) from French: on the way; on the journey crevasse (noun): a deep open crack in ice struggle (verb): fight; battle; try very hard blizzard (noun): very strong snow storm gangrenous (adjective): decomposing; dying exhaust (verb): finish; use up completely exertion (noun): hard effort raging (adjective): violent and overpowering self-sacrifice (noun): giving up your interests or life to help other people epitome (noun): perfect example understatement (noun): the presentation of something as smaller or less important than it really is allusion (noun): an expression that suggests or hints at something without actually saying it This entry is in the following categories: Captain Oates Captain Oates Captain Oates was the 'very gallant gentleman

' who walked to his death in a blizzard, hoping to save his comrades on Scott's disastrous South Pole expedition in 1912.

As he crawled from their tent on to the ice in temperatures of -40 °C, Oates achieved immortality with the famous parting remark: 'I am just going outside and may be some time.' But there was more to Oates than a famous death. He was a reluctant hero, who was dominated by his overbearing mother and clashed bitterly with Scott on the ill-fated expedition. His dislike of Scott became so intense that he resigned from the expedition on the eve of the Polar march and, alone among the five who perished, Oates pointed an accusing finger at Scott's bungling management. Oates also went to his death not realizing that he was a father. A little girl, who was born at an unknown location in Ireland, was taken from her young mother and sent to an orphanage in the south of England and grew up not knowing her father's identity. Oates was unaware of the child, and the dark secret has remained untold for about a hundred years. The secret was indeed dark, since the mother of the child was only 12 years of age when she gave birth.

Her family, who came from Scotland, sent the pregnant girl to Ireland to have the child in secrecy and her story has been kept a closely-guarded secret until today. By coincidence, Oates, a professional soldier, spent almost four years in Ireland at the turn of the twentieth century. These were the key years that shaped Oates and led him to make the fateful decision to enlist in Scott's expedition to the Antarctic. The traditional view is that Oates was a member of Victorian England's landed gentry, born into a life of wealth and privilege. He went from the grand manor house to the famous Eton public school and on to a commission in an elite cavalry regiment, the Inniskilling Dragoons. He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, the highest award for bravery, during the Boer War. But Oates became deeply disenchanted with army life in the years following the Boer War. In 1909, while stationed in India, the chance for escape came when Captain Scott announced his plans to reach the South Pole. Oates was so desperate to leave the army that he paid £1,000 from his own pocket to join Scott.

Today that £1,000 is worth almost £50,000. Oates was the expedition's most unfortunate figure, who should never have gone to the Pole. A bullet wound from the Boer War left one leg two inches shorter than the other, giving him a noticeable limp. In addition, he was a cavalry officer, trained to ride. Both these facts made him unsuitable for man-hauling a sledge 1,800 miles across the frozen wastes of Antarctica. But Oates was imbued with the British tradition of self-sacrifice and the stiff upper lip. Consequently, he concealed his severely frostbitten and gangrenous feet on the Polar march. As the only solider among a predominantly naval expedition, he was also an outsider. New studies of Oates' diaries and letters present a stark contrast to the conventional tale of gallant failure by a harmonious group of plucky explorers. By comparison, Oates offers a sardonic and disparaging judgement, which points to mismanagement and poor leadership by Scott.

Oates frequently clashed with the temperamental Scott and once wrote: 'Myself, I dislike Scott intensely and would chuck the whole thing if it were not that we are a British expedition.' He added: '[Scott] is not straight, it is himself first, the rest nowhere ' His intense loathing of Scott even prompted Oates to heap praise on Roald Amundsen, who reached the Pole a month before Scott's party. Oates concluded that Amundsen 'must have had his head screwed on right' to use dog teams to pull his sledges. It was 'very different to our wretched man-hauling' of sledges, he observed. Oates and Scott were ill-matched. Scott was a short-tempered, irrational and moody man who rarely confided in colleagues. Oates was taciturn, clear-cut and intolerant. 'Their natures jarred on one another,' a fellow explorer recalled. But Oates was central to the expedition. As an expert horseman, he was hired to handle a team of tough Manchurian or Siberian ponies hauling supplies on the first 400 miles of the Polar journey.

But Scott dropped an astonishing blunder by sending Cecil Meares, who knew nothing about horses, to buy the animals. Oates was horrified at the 'greatest lot of crocks I have ever seen' and said: 'Scott's ignorance about marching with animals is colossal.' Trying to make the best of a bad job, Oates argued that the ponies should be driven into the ground and shot as they weakened to feed the men. But Scott was squeamish and rejected the idea - a decision that planted the seeds of disaster. On the crucial depot-laying journey, Scott ordered a halt to the march and insisted that the depot be placed 30 miles further north than originally intended. Oates warned Scott that he would regret not driving the ponies further south and build the depot 30 miles nearer the Pole. A year later, 30 miles was the difference between life and death as the starving, freezing explorers struggled back from the Pole in crippling weather. Oates died about 30 miles from the depot - at roughly the spot he had urged Scott to build the cache of supplies. Even the myth of Oates' suicide can be questioned.

It seems highly unlikely that Oates' suicide was an attempt to save the three other men in the tent - Scott, Wilson and Bowers. Nor did it save them. Oates had reached a pinnacle of suffering by the time suicide beckoned. He could barely walk, his feet blackened and swollen by a merciless combination of frostbite and gangrene. He was starving and incoherent from the cold. The side effects of scurvy had re-opened his old war wound as a festering mess. Suicide was a merciful relief from unbearable suffering. Oates had plenty of earlier opportunities to leave the tent and speed up his colleagues' progress. He lingered painfully week after week and crawled to his death on 17th March 1912. The bleak fact is that Scott, Wilson and Bowers were beyond redemption when Oates crawled from the tent. Scott, too, sensed the end was near and wrote his first letter of farewell on the day Oates died. The letter included the telling words: ' we have been the Pole and we shall die like gentlemen.' They struggled on but died a slow death just 11 miles from the food depot.

Lawrence Oates, the cool-headed man of immense courage, was the only one of the party to decide when he was going to die. It was his 32nd birthday. © Michael Smith 2002. Michael Smith is a freelance journalist and author of I Am Just Going Outside, published by The Collins Press and Spellmount. He is also the author of An Unsung Hero - Tom Crean and Sir James Wordie - Polar Crusader : see this website for details. Anyone wishing to contact Michael may do so via e-mail: Michael.smith13@virigin.net Antarctic mission: Who was Captain Lawrence Oates? - BBC News BBC News Antarctic mission: Who was Captain Lawrence Oates? By Dhruti Shah BBC News 10 March 2012 Read more about sharing. Close share panel Image caption All five men who took part in the final leg of the journey to reach the south pole died on the difficult journey back to base (Picture: PA/University of Cambridge) "I am just going outside and may be some time." With these words, Antarctic explorer Capt Lawrence Oates set out to meet his death 100 years ago, aged 31, and entered the history books.

He was one of five men who died as they tried to return home from Robert Falcon Scott's ill-fated expedition to the South Pole in 1912. Capt Oates is remembered because of his act of self-sacrifice, committed because he believed he was slowing the others down. Now the Oates Gallery - an exhibition in Selborne, Hampshire, which opens on Saturday - tries to reveal the man behind those famous last words. Image caption Lawrence "Titus" Oates was born into a wealthy family (Picture: Capt Oates's family) As the exhibition prepared for opening day, the second floor of 18th Century naturalist Gilbert White's home in the quiet Hampshire village was a hive of activity. A stuffed King Penguin watched over the curators passionately discussing how best to pay tribute to Capt Oates. The whole floor is dedicated to the Putney-born adventurer - pictures of his childhood and then his military days combine with images taken by Herbert Ponting on the Antarctic mission a century ago.

Maj Gen Patrick Cordingley, who co-wrote a biography of Capt Oates, carefully ensured the adventurer's shoes - among the few items salvageable from the frozen tent where the others' bodies were found - were displayed in a prominent position. He said Capt Oates, whose body was never found, was "an ordinary man who was made extraordinary by the circumstances he faced at the end of his life". Captain Lawrence Oates 1880: Born 17 March in Putney, London Studied at Eton before sickness meant he was transferred to a school in Eastbourne 1898: Joined 3rd West Yorkshire (Militia) Regiment 1900: Joined the Army, posted to 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons 1901: Injured during Boer War 1910: Joins Capt Scott's expedition to Antarctica 1912: Dies after uttering his famous last words Capt Oates was born into a moneyed family, yet he is said to have had a self-effacing demeanour which made him popular with most of those he met.

He was unable to pass the necessary exams to join the Army and instead joined a militia regiment. But later, to his immense delight, he was given an attachment to the British army's 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons. In March 1901 during the Boer War in South Africa, he refused to back down in the face of an ambush. Instead, he sent out the message: "We came here to fight, not to surrender." Although the Boers were repulsed, an enemy bullet shattered Capt Oates's thigh, leaving him with a limp and one leg shorter than the other. This injury would cause him further pain towards the end of his life, when the chill of the Antarctic intensified the effect of his injuries. 'Wretched crocks' Yet his war wounds did not deter him from leading an active life. While in India in 1909, his love of hunting - one of his favourite pursuits along with racing and boxing - resulted in him taking an unusual step. He was so unimpressed with the foxhounds he found in the country, he got his brother to send out a fresh pack of dogs from England so he could hunt to the standard he desired.

Image caption The gallery takes up the second floor of 18th Century naturalist Gilbert White's home And when Capt Scott advertised for crew for his scientific expedition, the soldier raised the funds needed to secure a place on the team. He just needed to tell his mother, who reportedly controlled the family estate, and make sure he got the necessary permissions from the War Office. He signed up to be a midshipman on the Terra Nova - the ship taking the men to their destination - but Capt Scott did not send him to Siberia to get the ponies required for the expedition, despite this being his area of expertise. This was a source of irritation to Capt Oates, and in a letter sent at the start of the endeavour, he wrote that the £5 ponies which had been bought and shipped over were "very old for this sort of job" and described them as "a wretched load of crocks". But in a letter to Mrs Oates in October 1911, Capt Scott acknowledged that her son had played an integral role on the team by caring for the beasts. "I really don't know what our party of sailor and scientific men would have done without him.

Everything depends on the successful work of these animals and your son kindly took charge of them," he wrote. Image caption Capt Lawrence Oates was always seeking his next adventure Capt Oates's great-nephew Bryan - who lent many of the documents on show in the exhibition - said that his great-uncle had a mutual respect for Capt Scott, although they did not agree on every aspect of the organisation of the trip. Mr Oates said: "He came from such a secure background that he did not feel that he had to kowtow to anyone - yet he would obey orders implicitly." 'The poor soldier' Capt Scott sought sponsorship and publicity for the expedition - at least before Norwegian Roald Amundsen decided he would also compete for the crown of being the first one to conquer the south pole.

In a letter Capt Oates wrote to his mother in 1910, his distaste for this showmanship was clear: "I must say we have made far too much noise about ourselves, all the photographing, cheering, steaming through the fleet etc etc is rot, and if we fail will only make us look more foolish." In another letter to his mother, dated 28 October 1911, he voiced the thought of returning home, but added he did not want to "spoil" his chances of being on the final leg of the journey as "the regiment and perhaps the whole Army would be pleased if I was at the pole". But the men struggled to reach the point where they believed the south pole was. It became more apparent that the ponies chosen were not fit for the job - proving Capt Oates right. And Capt Oates noted he was facing constant trouble with his wet feet as the party travelled along the hardened ice. When the men eventually came across the remnants of the Norwegian expedition's camp, a sombre mood came over them. They had lost.

Image caption Capt Oates kept up a regular correspondence with his mother Caroline But Capt Oates commended Amundsen's team: "I must say that man must have had his head screwed on right. The gear they left was in excellent order and they seem to have had a comfortable trip with their dog teams, very different from our wretched man-hauling." The men began their difficult journey back but the freezing conditions led to Capt Oates's big toe turning black and his body turning an unhealthy yellow colour. Maj Gen Cordingley said: "His feet had been giving him trouble for two months but he had hidden his problem from the others. Now this was no longer possible." Capt Scott wrote in his diary: "If we were all fit I should have hopes of getting through, but the poor soldier has become a terrible hindrance, thought he does his utmost and suffers much I fear." Explorers knew the risks, that there would be no evacuation in cases of serious illness or injury. As team member Apsley Cherry-Garrard wrote in his account of the expedition: "There is no chance of a 'cushy' wound.

If you break your leg on the Beardmore (glacier), you must consider the most expedient way of committing suicide, both for your own sake and that of your companions." On 15 March, Captain Oates suggested that the remaining explorers should leave him in his sleeping bag, but they refused. But the man they affectionately called "the soldier" knew the end was near and, it seemed, had had enough. He awoke on 16 March 1912 and, leaving his shoes behind, walked out into the storm blowing outside. "He went into the blizzard and we have not seen him since," Capt Scott recorded in his diary the next day. In her grief, Capt Oates's mother Caroline had ordered the destruction of the diaries of her "baby boy", but her daughter Violet transcribed many of the documents so they were not lost to history. Maj Gen Cordingley said: "His final words are typical. It was his way of saying goodbye but without drawing too much attention to what he was actually doing. He died so they could have a chance of living.

"That was simply the sort of man he was." Antarctic Explorer's Last Words: 100 Years Ago Today Antarctic Explorer's Last Words: 100 Years Ago Today By Andrea Mustain | March 29, 2012 02:23pm ET MORE Robert Falcon Scott writes in his diary in the expedition's well-stocked hut three weeks before he set out for the pole. Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. On this day (March 29) 100 years ago, Antarctic explorer Robert Falcon Scott scrawled his last entry into the diary the British navy man had faithfully kept since the start of his ill-fated expedition to the South Pole. He and his two remaining companions, Henry "Birdie" Bowers, a lieutenant, and Scott's dear friend Edward Wilson, a doctor and artist charged with documenting the uncharted continent's geography, had known death was near. For more than a week, a raging storm had kept the trio holed up in their tent on the Antarctic ice sheet, unable to continue toward a cache of food at a pre-established depot only 11 miles (18 kilometers) away.

"Blizzard bad as ever," Scott wrote a week earlier, on March 22, 1912. "Wilson and Bowers unable to start. Tomorrow last chance. No fuel and only one or two of food left — must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural. We shall march for the depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks." The arduous journey had already offered a full measure of heartbreak. Happier times: British explorer Robert Falcon Scott stands alone in Antarctica's glittering white wilderness. The photo was included in a remarkable book, "The Lost Photographs of Captain Scott" (Little, Brown and Co., 2011), written by David M. Wilson, the great-nephew of Scott's confidante Edward Wilson. Credit: © 2011 Richard Kossow. The pole, at last On Jan. 16, after a two-and-a-half month slog across a glacier, over the Transantarctic Mountains , and through blinding snow, the team discovered they'd been beaten to the South Pole. Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen had gotten there first, on Dec.

14, 1911, a full month before Scott and his four companions spotted a telltale flag whipping in the wind over the coveted spot. [ Race to the South Pole in Images ] "It is a terrible disappointment, and I am very sorry for my loyal companions," Scott wrote on the occasion . From there, things only got worse. Hampered by the tightening stranglehold of Antarctic winter , Scott lost two of his men. Petty Officer Edgar Evans was done in by injury, and, hobbled by frostbite, Lawrence Oates famously sacrificed himself by walking out alone into a snowstorm to avoid slowing his companions' progress. "He said, 'I am just going outside and may be some time.' He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since," Scott wrote on March 16. On Thursday, March 29, Scott recorded his final entry: "We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot 11 miles away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now.

We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more. R. SCOTT. Scott's Last Expedition Scott's Last Expedition Thursday, March 29th 1912 March 29th, 1912 Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot 11 miles away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more. R. SCOTT. Message to the Public March 29th, 1912 The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organisation, but to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken. 1.

The loss of pony transport in March 1911 obliged me to start later than I had intended, and obliged the limits of stuff transported to be narrowed. 2. The weather throughout the outward journey, and especially the long gale in 83º S., stopped us. 3. The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again reduced pace. We fought these untoward events with a will and conquered, but it cut into our provision reserve. Every detail of our food supplies, clothing and depôts made on the interior ice-sheet and over that long stretch of 700 miles to the Pole and back, worked out to perfection. The advance party would have returned to the glacier in fine form and with surplus of food, but for the astonishing failure of the man whom we had least expected to fail. Edgar Evans was thought the strongest man of the party. The Beardmore Glacier is not difficult in fine weather, but on our return we did not get a single completely fine day; this with a sick companion enormously increased our anxieties. As I have said elsewhere we got into frightfully rough ice and Edgar Evans received a concussion of the brain – he died a natural death, but left us a shaken party with the season unduly advanced.

But all the facts above enumerated were as nothing to the surprise which awaited us on the Barrier. I maintain that our arrangements for returning were quite adequate, and that no one in the world would have expected the temperatures and surfaces which we encountered at this time of the year. On the summit in lat. 85º 86º we had -20º, -30º. On the Barrier in lat. 82º, 10,000 feet lower, we had -30º in the day, -47º at night pretty regularly, with continuous head wind during our day marches. It is clear that these circumstances come on very suddenly, and our wreck is certainly due to this sudden advent of severe weather, which does not seem to have any satisfactory cause. I do not think human beings ever came through such a month as we have come through, and we should have got through in spite of the weather but for the sickening of a second companion, Captain Oates, and a shortage of fuel in our depÙts for which I cannot account, and finally, but for the storm which has fallen on us within 11 miles of the depÙt at which we hoped to secure our final supplies.

Surely misfortune could scarcely have exceeded this last blow. We arrived within 11 miles of our old One Ton Camp with fuel for one last meal and food for two days. For four days we have been unable to leave the tent – the gale howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult, but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last. But if we have been willing to give our lives to this enterprise, which is for the honour of our country, I appeal to our countrymen to see that those who depend on us are properly cared for. Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman.

These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale, but surely, surely, a great rich country like ours will see that those who are dependent on us are properly provided for. R. SCOTT. Thursday, March 22nd and 23rd 1912 March 23rd, 1912 Blizzard bad as ever – Wilson and Bowers unable to start – to-morrow last chance – no fuel and only one or two of food left – must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural – we shall march for the depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks. Wednesday, March 21st March 21st, 1912 Got within 11 miles of depôt Monday night; had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard. To-day forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for fuel. Monday, March 19th 1912 March 19th, 1912 Lunch. We camped with difficulty last night, and were dreadfully cold till after our supper of cold pemmican and biscuit and a half a pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit.

Then, contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well. To-day we started in the usual dragging manner. Sledge dreadfully heavy. We are 15 1/2 miles from the depot and ought to get there in three days. What progress! We have two days’ food but barely a day’s fuel. All our feet are getting bad – Wilson’s best, my right foot worst, left all right. There is no chance to nurse one’s feet till we can get hot food into us. Amputation is the least I can hope for now, but will the trouble spread? That is the serious question. The weather doesn’t give us a chance – the wind from N. to N.W. and -40º temp, to-day. Sunday, March 18th 1912 March 18th, 1912 To-day, lunch, we are 21 miles from the depot. Ill fortune presses, but better may come. We have had more wind and drift from ahead yesterday; had to stop marching; wind N.W., force 4, temp. -35º. No human being could face it, and we are worn out nearly.

My right foot has gone, nearly all the toes – two days ago I was proud possessor of best feet. These are the steps of my downfall. Like an ass I mixed a small spoonful of curry powder with my melted pemmican – it gave me violent indigestion. I lay awake and in pain all night; woke and felt done on the march; foot went and I didn’t know it. A very small measure of neglect and have a foot which is not pleasant to contemplate. Bowers takes first place in condition, but there is not much to choose after all. The others are still confident of getting through – or pretend to be – I don’t know! We have the last half fill of oil in our primus and a very small quantity of spirit – this alone between us and thirst. The wind is fair for the moment, and that is perhaps a fact to help. The mileage would have seemed ridiculously small on our outward journey. Friday, March 16th or Saturday 17th 1912 March 17th, 1912 Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line.

At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn’t go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come. Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates’ last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not – would not – give up hope to the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning – yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said, ‘I am just going outside and may be some time.’ He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since.

I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely out of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder seemed to demand his abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at this critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave him till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was walking to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far. I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold is intense, -40º at midday. My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frostbites, and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don’t think anyone of us believes it in his heart. We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals. Yesterday we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move dreadfully slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from One Ton DepÙt.

We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and Oates’ sleeping-bags. Diaries, &c., and geological specimens carried at Wilson’s special request, will be found with us or on our sledge. Wednesday, March 14th, 1912 March 14th, 1912 No doubt about the going downhill, but everything going wrong for us. Yesterday we woke to a strong northerly wind with temp. -37°. Couldn’t face it, so remained in camp till 2, then did 5 1/4 miles. Wanted to march later, but party feeling the cold badly as the breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and as the sun sank the temp. fell. Long time getting supper in dark. This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed another cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W. by S. or W.S.W., blew through our wind clothes and into our mits. Poor Wilson horribly cold, could not get off ski for some time. Bowers and I practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last we were all deadly cold.

Then temp, now midday down -43° and the wind strong. We must go on, but now the making of every camp must be more difficult and dangerous. It must be near the end, but a pretty merciful end. Poor Oates got it again in the foot. I shudder to think what it will be like to-morrow. It is only with greatest pains rest of us keep off frostbites. No idea there could be temperatures like this at this time of year with such winds. Truly awful outside the tent. Must fight it out to the last biscuit, but can’t reduce rations. Monday, March 12th 1912 March 12th, 1912 We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our necessary average. Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much, and now with hands as well as feet pretty well useless. We did 4 miles this morning in 4 hours 20 min. – we may hope for 3 this afternoon, 7 ◊ 6 = 42. We shall be 47 miles from the depot. I doubt if we can possibly do it.

The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and our physical condition running down. God help us! Not a breath of favourable wind for more than a week, and apparently liable to head winds at any moment. Sunday, March 11th 1912 March 11th, 1912 Titus Oates is very near the end, one feels. What we or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after breakfast; he is a brave fine fellow and understands the situation, but he practically asked for advice. Nothing could be said but to urge him to march as long as he could. One satisfactory result to the discussion; I practically ordered Wilson to hand over the means of ending our troubles to us, so that anyone of us may know how to do so. Wilson had no choice between doing so and our ransacking the medicine case. We have 30 opium tabloids apiece and he is left with a tube of morphine. So far the tragical side of our story. The sky completely overcast when we started this morning.

We could see nothing, lost the tracks, and doubtless have been swaying a good deal since—3.1 miles for the forenoon—terribly heavy dragging—expected it. Know that 6 miles is about the limit of our endurance now, if we get no help from wind or surfaces. We have 7 days’ food and should be about 55 miles from One Ton Camp to-night, 6 × 7 = 42, leaving us 13 miles short of our distance, even if things get no worse. Meanwhile the season rapidly advances. Scott's Last Expedition: Images From His Doomed South Pole Trek Scott's Last Expedition: Images From His Doomed South Pole Trek By Andrea Mustain | September 15, 2011 05:43pm ET MORE Voyage into History Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. The Terra Nova, the ship that carried Robert Falcon Scott's ill-fated expedition to the frozen continent that would be his grave, in a photograph dated December 13, 1910. Here, the ship is seen held up by the ice pack.

Scott did indeed reach the pole on January 17, 1912 only to discover that Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen beat him there by several weeks, on December 14, 1911. Scott and his men, ill-equipped for the onset of the Antarctic winter, died on their trek back toward their base. Their frozen corpses, still bundled inside sleeping bags, along with diaries filled with last thoughts, were found in November 1912. This photo is signed "H.G. Ponting." Herbert George Ponting was the official photographer for the expedition. Ponting didn't accompany the crew inland, in the race to reach the Pole, and thus survived to bring his photographs and even some early film footage back to civilization for all to see. He took all the photos included in this gallery. They are offered up for sale at an auction of polar exploration memorabilia on Sept. 20, 2011 at Leski Auctions in Melbourne, Australia. Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000 Minimum Bid: $2,900 Sturdy Vessel Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions.

The photograph shows the Terra Nova tied up at the foot of the ice in Cape Evans on Ross Island, which lies just off the portion of the Antarctic coast that lies south of the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It was at this site that Scott built his famed hut , which served as the expedition's hub of operations and still stands there today. The aptly-named vessel was launched in 1884 as a whaling ship, and had voyaged to both the Arctic and Antarctic before the British explorer used the ship for his doomed attempt to be the first man to set foot at the South Pole. Estimate: $7,500 - $10,000 Minimum Bid: $9,000 Scott's Folly? Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. Aboard the Terra Nova, Captain Lawrence Oates attends to his charges 19 Siberian ponies. Some point to Scott's insistence on using horses, creatures seemingly ill-suited for Antarctic trudges, as one of the downfalls of his expedition. Oates was one of the four men Scott chose to accompany him on his final push to the pole.

On March 16, 1912, the day before his 32nd birthday, an injured and sick Oates famously walked out of the team's tent into a blizzard to die, in hopes the men would be able to move faster without him. Scott recorded in his diary that Oates said, "I am just going outside and may be some time." His body was never found. Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000 Minimum Bid: $5,000 'Dog Team Resting' Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. This photo was shot near the edge of the Barne Glacier, which comes to an end near Cape Evans and the site of Scott's hut. Scott's team did use some dogs to pull sledges toward the interior of the continent, but Amundsen made far greater use of the furry beasts, and to much greater advantage. Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000 Minimum Bid: $2,300 Not-so-wild Wildlife Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. Ponting titled this image 'The "Glad Eye" Penguin.

He apparently took the photograph in 1910. This is an Adelie penguin , a species that is abundant on Antarctic shorelines. Scott wrote in his diary that penguins proved to be quite a nuisance to the expedition. The birds seemed to be endlessly curious, and regularly got too close to the dogs and often came to a sticky end because of it. Estimate: $2,000 - $2,500 Minimum Bid: $1,500 Hard-won meals Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions. Ponting wrote on this photo, "This was taken by flashlight in the depth of the long polar night in a temperature of 45F below zero." The image shows the expedition's surgeon, Edward Atkinson, and the expedition's cook, Thomas Clissold, hauling up a fish trap that was set in the water beneath the ice. Estimate: $3,000 - $5,000 Minimum Bid: $2,800 Polar Musings Credit: Courtesy of Charles Leski, Leski Auctions.

Robert Falcon Scott, pipe in hand, writes in his diary from the comfort of his hut, on October 7, 1911, three weeks before he departed for his final journey to the continent's lonely interior. Among the piles of books, fur mittens and other items that adorn the cabin's interior, several photographs were tacked to the walls. His wife Kathleen is pictured in the photograph to his left. Some pictures included their son Peter, who was born in 1909. Estimate: $7,500 - $10,000 Minimum Bid: $9,000 Throughout his journey, Scott kept a faithful record of the increasingly disastrous trek. His final diary entry is dated March 29, 1912. He writes of a powerful storm, which is preventing him and his two remaining men from reaching a food depot 11 miles away. "We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far," he wrote. "It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more. R. Scott" Lawrence Oates: I am just going out. I might be some time.

On this day in history in 1880, was born Lawrence Oates. On this day in history in 1912, died Lawrence Oates. Oates was a soldier and explorer who accompanied Scott on his ill-fated expedition to the South Pole. Oates was born in London and educated at Eton. He joined the dragoons where he saw service in India, Egypt and South Africa. He was grievously wounded in the Boer War but made a phenomenal recovery. In 1910, Oates volunteered to join Robert Scottï¿½s expedition to the Antarctic. Scott was hoping to lead a British party, which would be the first to reach the South Pole. Oates was selected to deal with the ponies on account of his military experience with horses. The expedition was arranged hurriedly as a rival Norwegian party was due to set off in competition to reach the Pole first. Scott and his companions set off from Hut Point and reached the Beardmore Glacier, which was to be their base camp. Oates was included in the five-man party to go to the Pole.

From here, the group moved south towards the Pole, which they reached on 17th January 1912, only to find the Norwegian flag there, signifying that the Norwegian, Amundsen, had arrived ahead of them. On the return journey, the group faced appalling weather conditions. Their progress was further hampered by Oatesï¿½ war wound, aggravated by scurvy, which slowed the whole party. On the 17th March 1912, when the group were taking shelter from a blizzard, Oates, realising that he was a burden on the rest, walked out of the tent to his inevitable death. His famous last words were ï¿½I am just going out. I might be some time.ï¿½ Sadly Oatesï¿½ heroic gesture was futile. The rest of the party perished before reaching base camp. The teamï¿½s bodies and Scottï¿½s diaries, recalling all these events, were discovered later in 1912. A cairn was erected over their remains, marking their last resting place. In the 1970s, this cairn was swallowed up by the ocean.

Question: Who, in March 1912, famously said I am just going outside and may be some time"?
Answer: Captain Lawrence Oates